


The Little Changes

by unbreakable_groundriot



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Changing Appearances, Crowley will wear a crop top in every fic I write because I love it, Established Relationship, Footnotes, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Insecure Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Mentions of Sex, fashion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 11:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbreakable_groundriot/pseuds/unbreakable_groundriot
Summary: He knows for certain that his angel is not using the magazines for any nefarious purpose. They return with only the smell of Aziraphale's cologne and not the smell of a clandestine bathroom visit. There were no weird, stuck together pages, but he did catch a whiff of spilled and then miracled away cocoa on a February copy of his British GQ Magazine from a few years ago.





	The Little Changes

Anthony J. Crowley did not read in the traditional sense. Books were too long and he'd never really found one that kept his attention. Aziraphale had tried for years to find something the demon would enjoy but it was all in vain.

He did very much enjoy reading the newspaper every morning and he had a large list of magazine subscriptions. The flat on the second floor of the bookshop he shared with his angel contained very neat stacks of magazines on topics ranging from gardening to cars to both men's and women's fashion[1].  
Each stack was carefully organized by topic and date of publication. He'd never liked disorder and mess and it was always very clear what area of the flat he'd claimed as his own. The flat, he had declared, was to remain as tidy as possible. The bookshop was Aziraphale's once flaming mess of piles.

Because of this careful system of organization, he notices almost right away that several of his men's fashion magazines have gone missing and return a day or so later in the completely wrong stack or in the wrong order.

Curious.

The only other creature allowed on the second floor was the Angel of the Eastern Gate:Aziraphale[2]. Crowley so intelligently deduces that the angel must be the culprit.

He knows for certain that his angel is not using the magazines for any nefarious purpose. They return with only the smell of Aziraphale's cologne[3] and not the smell of a clandestine bathroom visit. There were no weird, stuck together pages, but he did catch a whiff of spilled and then miracled away cocoa on a February copy of his British GQ Magazine from a few years ago.

Still, he doesn't know how to approach the topic. Aziraphale had never been interested in fashion. He'd kept up with the current fashion of the time until it became acceptable to look like a frumpy librarian permanently. In fact, his side of their shared closet was stuffed with books and a few coats and scarves for cold days. He does have a drawer of pajamas, underwear, and socks. In contrast, Crowley's side of the closet was carefully organized with trousers, jeans, a few very nice dresses for when he was in one of those moods, and a few pieces that were custom-tailored. He usually just mimicked whatever he saw, but some items were just too perfect to miracle away.

"Darling." It's a lazy day in the bookshop when Aziraphale, thankfully, brings up the topic of the stolen magazines first. The pair lay lazily in their bed with no intention of getting out of bed today. Aziraphale wore only his underwear[4] and Crowley donned his own underwear and a crop top[5] that was bedazzled with a sunglasses emoji.

"Nnnnk?" The demon's response is nothing but intelligent. He picks his head up from where it's been pillowed on the bare chest under him for the last few hours. There's a little bit of white-blonde hair that trails all the way down from the angel's chest down to his Effort[6]. It tickled his nose at times but it also held the smell of the angel.

Aziraphale's perfectly manicured nails gently scratch through the demon's hair. It is a complete mess from sleep and the fun they'd had earlier in the morning. The soft tugs to remove any knots in the red locks feels heavenly.

"Do you...Really enjoy my corporeal form?"  
"Call it a body. That's so pretentious." The demon shifts to rest his chin on Aziraphale's chest. His glasses are off, obviously, and his yellow eyes are showing a little more white sclera in his relaxed state. "Of course I bloody well enjoy it. I wouldn't fuck you if I didn't."  
"Don't call it that!" Aziraphale sounds offended as if just hours ago he hadn't been whispering filthy things in the demon's ear as he held him face down into the bed[7].

Crowley rolls his eyes even as he leans into the hand that is still petting him. "What're you trying to get at, angel?"

Aziraphale would wring his hands if they weren't so busy. He averts his eyes here and there and scrunches his nose as he frets. "I was... That is... If there was something you could change about it...What would it be?"

It didn't take one of Agnes Nutter's Nice and Accurate Prophecies to know that this conversation was not going to end up in smiles.

"I like you the way you are, Aziraphale. End of subject. Brush my hair." He butts against the now unmoving hand.  
"Don't lie to my face, Crowley." The angel sounds a little annoyed for once. "There is no way you find this corporation perfect." He slowly sits up so that Crowley has to sit back on his heels. The ridiculous crop top shows off his completely hairless stomach and a flash of thin ribs.

"This isn't a conversation I want to have with you, Aziraphale."  
"If you thought I was perfect you wouldn't be deflecting!"

In the years after the No-pocalypse Crowley has only seen Aziraphale this agitated and petulant a few times. Even when he's angry he's always perfectly polite, but this Aziraphale is sharp and loud with a bite that is worse than his bark.

The demon sets his jaw. He had just wanted a nice lay about day with a bit of fooling around and later a hot bath together. "Maybe I don't want to hurt your feelings. Did you think about that, angel? I'm sure there's loads about my form that you don't like. You could have a fish on your head and I would still find you attractive." He was a demon, however, and was used to such additions. Angels were only ever marred, if you could call it that, with flecks of gold and silver and precious stones. Sometimes their eyes were an odd color or, like Aziraphale, their hair was a color that humans could not achieve without a lot of trying. Angels were also expected to be completely uniform and smartly dressed. Hell didn't really have a dress code.

"Maybe I do! That doesn't answer my question! What don't you like about my body!" The angel's voice rises uncharacteristically. He did not as a question so much as he demanded an answer. Clearly, this has been eating away at him and the demon feels a pang of regret that he hasn't noticed. Hasn't he shown how much he loves his angel?

It was true that Aziraphale's corporeal body was not what humans would consider ideal. He was a little on the chubby side with a belly and round cheeks and thick thighs[8]. His hair was unnaturally pale and his nose was just a little off for his face. He was older, in the human sense, with wrinkles and laugh lines and crow's feet. Most humans guessed he was on the low side of fifty.

Crowley knew he was quite the opposite. He was all lean and long. His hair was the perfect shade of red that one could not reproduce in even the finest salon. He had a defined jawline and far fewer signs of age than his counterpart. Most humans guessed his age on the high side of forty.

There were things that Crowley, despite his apparent confidence, did not like about his form. Angels and demons were not truly bound to any one appearance, but there were things they could not change no matter how hard they tried. Aziraphale would always have that too-white, curly hair and Crowley would never be able to get rid of his wavy red. The angel's eyes would always be blue with rings of green and the demon would always have the eyes of a serpent. Aziraphale's back showed wine stains where his wings would appear should he will them to and Crowley's own back was littered in small patches of black scales. He hated his eyes. He hated his scales. He hated that no matter how much human food he consumed he could never gain weight. His ribs poked out and his thighs were not the kind you wanted to spend time between.

The demon thinks he might feel his enamel crack with the force he's applying to keep his jaws shut. "Fine! You want to hurt your own feelings? Fine!" He sits up properly on his knees. "I don't like that you brush out your curls! I don't like that your eyebrows are dark in the middle! I don't like that one toe you have that sticks out a little! I don't like the jiggly arms! I don't like that you've been wearing the same fucking outfit for a billion years! I don't like that you look older than me!" He snarls the words out and regrets them before he can even take a breath.

Aziraphale slowly touches his hair and then the corners of his eyes. He even touches his eyebrows and Crowley feels really awful about that one because he can't change the color of them. He settles his hands in his lap and focuses his gaze on their soft, cream bed sheets.

"Oh fuck...Angel..." The demon reaches for him and while Aziraphale doesn't struggle he doesn't move into the comfort as Crowley pulls him against his side.

"Don't be upset, darling. I did ask for it." He just sounds sad, really, and the demon can't stand the sound of it. "I suppose I expected worse really."

"Angel, please look at me." He begs. They had had their spats before, but this was something else. 

"I've been thinking about my body for a while now." He refuses to look up but at least he's talking. "You know Heaven is very strict about appearances. I was always afraid to even change my hairstyle. I'm not brave like you." Crowley presses his nose into the dandelion puff of Aziraphale's bed mussed hair. He knows his angel has been going to the same barber for some fifty years or so. No one really questioned it. "I love you as you are, angel. Neither of our bodies is perfect. No human is perfect. It makes sense that our bodies aren't either."

There's a tiny shake of the angel's head. "I don't want to be perfect. I want to... I want to choose the way I look for myself. I suppose I just wanted an excuse. I'm sorry, my love. I never should have goaded you on this way." He looks up then with eyes begging forgiveness. He's greeted with a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose.

"There's a million things I love about you, angel." Over the years the words had come easier between them. There was no fear anymore. They could express themselves freely. It had taken time to break down the old walls, but love made it easier. "If you'd like to take a few years I could name them all."

The angel leans into the demon with a weak smile. "I think I'll pass, love." He half whispers. "Would you...If I changed would you still love me? Would you still want my body?"  
He's squeezed closer to the serpentine demon. "That why you've been stealing my magazines? Trying to get ideas?" A tiny nod. "I would love any form you took. Try it out. It's fun and if you don't like it you just change back. Experiment." The demon pauses. "They don't control you anymore, Aziraphale. I don't control you either."

He leans down as the angel leans up and they share a kiss that is soft and gentle and makes the room stink of love.

* * *

  
"You can't look until I'm done!" Aziraphale huffs as he finally locks the bathroom door. Crowley has been whining and trying to peek under the crack for the past hour. He's not unlike a cat waiting for its owner to get off the toilet. The pair had spent the better part of a week looking through men's magazines after The Conversation. He didn't want a massive change and they did have to find things that worked with the unchangeable things. Aziraphale would not exactly look good in all yellow, for example.

"You've been years in there." Crowley moans. He leans all of his weight against the closed door.

Years later,[9] Aziraphale emerges with a shy, hopeful smile.

He doesn't look all that different. He's still soft around the edges, but his face and body are clearly younger and leaner. His jawline is defined, but the shy smile shows off the pleasant, inviting apples of his cheeks. His hair is a bit longer and he's let his curls flop and bounce naturally. The color is the same and his eyebrows are still darker in the middle. His eyes lack the deep crow's feet, but there's the hint of age there that makes him look like a man in his forties rather than a man from the 1840s[*].

They'd chosen the outfit together and as much as Crowley likes it he very much wants to see it on the floor. The trousers are his standard tan in a lighter shade and fitted just right to those still delicious thighs. The shirt is not unlike his former button-down dress shirt. It's a richer blue that really brings out his pretty blue eyes and the sleeves have been artfully rolled up to show off arms that are dusted with pale blonde hair. His waistcoat is the same light tan as his trousers and tailored in such a way that his soft belly is not hidden, but his waist is accentuated. The cut is modern and sleek and the buttons are gold with tiny harps engraved into them. He still wears the tartan bow tie with the subtle gold thread.

Crowley swallows hards. His human body is already betraying him. Aziraphale had never failed to light a fire in his loins, but the change was more than welcomed. He was still the soft, sweet, angelic man-shaped being that Crowley never hesitated to take to bed. Now, however, he didn't look uncomfortable in his own skin. He didn't look afraid that Gabriel would appear at any moment to scold him about not wearing regulation brown shoes.

"That bad?" He asks shyly. He plays with the rolled his sleeves a little. The sleeve clips are subtle, thin golden serpents.

Crowley stalks up to him and threads his fingers into the angel's long hair at the nape of his neck. It had always been too short to grab. "You look," he flicks his tongue out to taste the air, "absolutely ravishing."

Later Aziraphale will pout at having to miracle the buttons back onto the shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Crowley was a creature that enjoyed a male body, but if a gorgeous skirt caught his eye he just couldn't say no.[return to text]
> 
> 2 Crowley couldn't convince him to choose a proper last name. Ezra Fell wasn't a very good name and he couldn't very well be Aziraphale Fell and he would not agree to Aziraphale Crowley.[return to text]
> 
> 3 Must De Cartier By Cartier. It was all cinnamon and spices and Crowley would never admit to stealing a spritz for himself when Aziraphale was gone on business buying books. [return to text]
> 
> 4 Shockingly he wore very stylish boxer briefs that showed off everything Crowley liked to stare at. [return to text]
> 
> 5 Crowley had long ago found that he did not like to be shirtless outside of showers, baths, and sex. The stupid crop tops gifted to him by The Them allowed him to be perfectly covered and perfectly enticing at the same time. [return to text]
> 
> 6 Girth over length and Aziraphale had certainly _not_ curved it to the perfect angle.[return to text]
> 
> 7 Crowley loved a good, slow bit of eye contact lovemaking, but being held down by the heavy weight of Aziraphale's body was absolute Heaven and the damned angel knew it.[return to text]
> 
> 8 He could spend hours and hours between those thighs.[return to text]
> 
> 9 It had only been an hour and a quarter total.[return to text]
> 
>   
> *  
> [ I was inspired by this gorgeous painting. ](https://sokodraws.tumblr.com/post/186329066406/the-good-ol-swicheroo-heres-both-of-my)  
> [return to text]
> 
> Please note that I think Michael Sheen is a silver(ing) fox. I also don't think Sheen or Tennant are as chubby/skinny as fandom has made them out to be.


End file.
